A Second Chance
by Cal Boggs
Summary: Dr. Reginald Bushroot is suddenly presented with a second chance at being an adjunct professor at St. Canard University, but there are some strings attached. As he's dragged into a side project for the government, Bushroot begins unraveling darker secrets than he bargained for, and his research earns him some powerful enemies. Will he finally find peace, or will he be trampled?
1. Chapter 1: Unexpected Visitor

The rain drove down over St. Canard in sheets, blanketing the city in curtains of water that reduced visibility to feet and made driving a hazardous proposition on a night like this. The winds were high, driving the water in the bay to violent whitecaps as they tossed any small boats unfortunate enough to still be out to and fro like toys in a bathtub.

Out in the harbor, the large coastal ferry Canard's Wing was attempting to dock in fifty-knot winds. The trip had been delayed by thirty minutes due to the high seas, but the bridge crew was finally managing to wrestle the ship back to its berth. Passengers eagerly headed to their cars, ready to drive back home and get out of the rain. The ramp whined as it lowered to allow the cars egress, and headlights snapped on like banshees, illuminating the inky blackness as vehicles began to roll.

But loud horns suddenly blared as frustrated drivers were trapped behind one car that refused to move. It simply sat there, blocking all cars behind it. The ship's docking crew shouted to the driver to get that car moving, but still nothing occurred. The horns continued bleating as some of the crew finally ran over to the driver's window, only to find the driver absent from the vehicle; there was no at all in fact inside the car.

A careful search was made of the ferry, including the cabins, the dining area, the bathrooms, and even the crew areas, but there was no sign of Dr. Jonathan Lindamood anywhere. The vessel had been cleared, and St. Canard's Coast Guard was contacted with the sobering news that the ferry now had a missing passenger…

Dr. Lindamood's body was discovered the next morning, washed ashore on the sands of South Beach. Cause of death was ruled to be drowning, exacerbated by high levels of alcohol in his blood. The authorities ruled it an accidental death, and postulated that the unfortunate doctor had had too much to drink, and had fallen overboard in the storm…

The blue fluid pulsed through the tubes surrounding the green plant-duck like the tentacles of a giant octopus, practically encasing him as his light blue, almost slate-gray eyes lit up with an ecstatic glow. "Yes! Yes!" he exclaimed, clearly excited by the results. His ivy hands balled into fists, and they pumped in the air above him as Dr. Reginald Bushroot watched the proceedings with an intensity that looked like it might start burning holes in the tubing and piping with just a glance alone.

The small Bunsen burner's flame licked underneath the beaker, causing the contents to bubble as the tubes' juices began to empty into the concoction. "Precise temperature of 304 degrees Fahrenheit maintained… chloroplasts added… sucrose and fructose levels seem good… check!" Bushroot was going down a checklist meticulously to ensure his formula was perfect. There was no room for error. Zero. Everything must be exact in order for this to work. It must not be capable of being dissolved or dissipating in water…

The plant-duck scientist was in his greenhouse, slaving away over his latest invention: if his calculations were correct, he'd soon have a formula for transforming not just ducks but 90% of St. Canard's denizens into plant creatures, similar to himself. He had spent months researching his telepathic link to plants, and was determined to remove this ability from his transformation serum, as he wasn't looking to level the playing field, but looking to bring St. Canard into his perspective, and stop their foolish, frivolous lives and wake them up to things around them, including the hardships he'd had to face ever since his own transformation.

Peering at the bubbling formula, Bushroot knew that this brew must not dissolve or become diluted in water, or his whole plan to taint St. Canard's water supply with it would fail. Glancing at a watch he wore on his wrist, Dr. Bushroot counted down the seconds in his head before turning off the burner. Grabbing some tongs, the scientist moved the beaker over to a graduated cylinder filled about halfway with water, and paused. Months of research… and it could all be undone with the test. If the test failed, he would have to start from scratch. Hesitating to dump the beaker's contents, he finally sighed, and knew he had to do this; it was bottom's up or bust. Upending the beaker, he watched the mixture pour down into the water, staining it a dull green before it began binding with the water's molecules and the color dissipated. "So far, so good!" he declared to himself, and then took the cylinder and poured part of it into a small test tube very carefully to avoid any spills.

Placing a stopper on the top, Bushroot violently shook the tube as if he were mixing an alcoholic beverage, jostling the contents as he looked once more at his watch. Not relenting on the motions until a minute had passed, he pulled the stopper and placed a testing strip down into the water to see the readings of the water's contents. "Come on… come on!" he pleaded, waiting to see if the test strip would turn green. If it did, his mixture had not been diluted, and would work in large concentrations and doses. If the strip stayed yellow, he'd failed.

But much to his delight, a green sheen began spreading across the strip, and he yanked it out in sheer joy, jumping in place as he gazed upon the green markings. "Yes! I've done it! With this, everyone will finally be able to see through my eyes!" he exclaimed, cackling maniacally.

His laughter was interrupted by the sound of his doorbell however, and his head snapped in the direction of the entrance to his lair. Most peculiar, as he never got visitors! He hadn't broken the law in months, and had been very careful to stay out of the spotlight lately in order to conceal his latest plan. What if it was Darkwing Duck, that accursed crime-fighter coming to spy on him? Growling, Bushroot quickly placed the tube into a holder and stoppered it once more.

Walking through the plethora of plants to his front door, Bushroot was surprised to see it wasn't Darkwing Duck. In fact, it was someone he didn't think he'd ever seen before. Cracking the door cautiously, the plant-duck scientist narrowed his eyes at the tall and slim duck standing on his doorstep. "Yes?" he asked.

"Dr. Bushroot! You're exactly as seen on TV!" the other duck grinned, extending a wing for him to shake.

"Uh… what is this regarding?" Bushroot asked, merely staring at the outstretched wing.

"Oh! Pardon me! My manners, of course! I'm Dr. Roderick Payne, of St. Canard University, professor of genetics and conceptual biology! I believe… no I know you were a former faculty member at said university as well as a critically acclaimed alumnus! It's so good to finally meet you in person!" Dr. Payne was saying.

"Uh… why exactly?" Bushroot asked hesitantly.

"Because, Dr. Bushroot, I'm here to make your day, trust me! You mind if I come in?" Dr. Payne asked.

"Um… well I guess… but I'd rather you didn't." Bushroot responded, nervous about his experiment being discovered, but Payne wasn't taking no for an answer, and brushed by Bushroot, gawking at the massive greenhouse around him.

"Ahhh yes! Quite the place you've got here! Very impressive collection of species! A true botanist you are, Dr. Bushroot, or should I call you Reginald, or even Reggie?" Payne asked, turning in a slow, admiring circle before resting his eyes upon the plant-duck scientist.

"Well gee, thanks, and uh... Dr. Bushroot is fine for now." Bushroot responded, scratching his purple head.

"Very well! Appropriate among colleagues, after all! Anyway, I'd better get to the point, shouldn't I? Dr. Bushroot, I'm here to make your day, because I'm going to offer you, dah dah dah dah! A job!" Payne was all smiles here, and Bushroot only stared at him wide-mouthed.

"Wait… what?" Bushroot gasped, figuring this was a joke, or he'd misheard him. "Is this… oh I get it… it must be prank Bushroot day, right? Hahah! Very funny! Did one of my former colleagues put you up to this?" he asked skeptically. "You used to be friends with Dr. Gary or Dr. Larson or something like that? That it?" he pressed.

"Good gizzards, no!" Dr. Payne replied, waving his wings defensively. "I'm dead serious, Dr. Bushroot! The university is willing to hire you back at full salary as an adjunct professor of biology, though uh… eheh, we're gonna have to hold off on tenure options for now, and there'd be some strings attached, but it's all true! It's not a trick! We're as genuine as the plants on your head!" he outlined.

Bushroot could only stare blankly at first, blinking. "Dead serious?" he asked in a voice that cracked.

"Dead serious, Dr. Bushroot! I mean why would I risk my life coming here to tell you this, after all? You aren't exactly known to be the most amiable of hosts, after all, no offense intended of course." Dr. Payne quickly responded.

"Well… why me? Aren't there you know… plenty of other qualified and talented young professors you'd want on your staff that aren't, you know… ex-murderers, thieves and larcenists? I'm one of St. Canard's most wanted, after all…" Bushroot trailed off.

"Well you served your time, and you've been clean for a good five months now! You haven't violated your parole, and hell, you've been mostly a recluse this past half-year. Truth is, Dr. Bushroot, the university is in desperate need of someone with your particular expertise, you could say." Payne explained.

"Expertise? What expertise?" Bushroot asked suspiciously.

"Well Dr. Bushroot, I'd be dishonest towards you if I'm going to hire you without telling you all the details surrounding the conditions of your hiring. See… my department has received a government grant recently to develop a special project, which I can't mention to you just yet as that's proprietary info, but we were moving right along with it until yesterday. Have you seen the news?" Payne asked with some concern.

"News? I saw a lot this morning…" Bushroot confessed.

"Well the body of our chief researcher, Dr. John Lindamood, washed up on South Beach this morning. He'd been returning from a symposium, but had gotten drunk on the ferry ride back apparently, and fallen overboard." Payne stated, a slight frown on his beak.

"Oh yes! I did see that this morning! I had been wondering about it myself…" Bushroot said, rubbing his chin. "I knew John from my time at St. Canard U, but not terribly well." He confessed.

"Yes well… we thought he was irreplaceable, but then I said to myself, wait a minute! Dr. Reginald Bushroot did a lot of the same work and theories Lindamood did… why not get him in on the project? He hasn't done anything in months, and who knows? Maybe giving him an honest job will give him another chance at life! There's no denying your intellect, Dr. Bushroot! You were one of St. Canard's brightest back when you taught there, and I can't think of a reason in the world not to have you in on this project. You deserve a second chance." Payne was saying with hints of sincerity dripping from his tones. But it almost seemed like he was going out of his way to convince the scientist, which put Bushroot on guard.

"I… don't know about that." Bushroot said hesitantly, looking off to the side. "You know… I'm not sure the students would really… take kindly to me… given my past record and my current… appearance, shall we say? I mean this is all rather sudden, after all." He indicated his appearance by moving his hands down his body, extending the vines to show what he meant.

"Oh… well I'm sure you'd settle in! I could do some PR work for you beforehand, and who knows? I think you should give it a chance. I mean what else have you got going for you right now? Isn't this what you wanted? A chance to prove you're still the brilliant Dr. Reginald Bushroot from four years ago? A chance to make a positive impact for yourself in your old community? You won't have any interference from Drs. Gary and Larson anymore, for obvious reasons, and truth be told, I'm on your side regarding them." Payne said reassuringly, studying a wing here before giving Bushroot a sympathetic look.

"You… are?" Bushroot asked with surprise, raising his brows here. "But I committed murder! The other faculty… they'd treat me with suspicion and hostility, I'm sure of it!" Bushroot paused, studying his rooty feet and sighing. He wanted this… he wanted this so desperately, but could he really do it? Would it be worth the hardship and the torment he'd face coming back? It didn't seem like it. But what else did he have? Dr. Payne was right… his plan to transform all of St. Canard into plants… was it really necessary? He could have his old life back… his old job… his old familiarity, minus Drs. Larson and Gary. Maybe even… maybe even her… but no.

He shook his head here, coming out of his daze. "I'm sorry." He quickly said here. "But I just don't think it's going to work out. Let's face it, Dr. Payne. I turned myself into a freak, and I have to live with that. I'd only end up scaring the students, and earning the ire of my fellow faculty. I don't want to go through that… I don't want put myself through that weed whacker, if you will."

Payne seemed hurt, and took out a notepad now to scribble something on it. "Did I mention…" he began, focused on his writing, "that you would be given a government stipend for this project in addition to your regular salary? Somewhere in this neighborhood…" Payne held out the pad, and Bushroot almost choked upon seeing the six-figure sum.

"What?" he gargled, eyes bulging.

"You got it." Payne nodded. "$250,000 for the first year, and an additional $250,000 completion bonus if you make the project's deadline. We really need your help, Dr. Bushroot. It's why I'm serious about this, and why you're getting so much money. $500,000. Think about it… you should be jumping on this."

"What kinda project is this, anyway?" Bushroot demanded, feeling he must be turning paler than his usual green.

"You'll get full details upon accepting our hiring contract. And you know what? I'll even throw in a sweetener. If you sign on with us, I'll short-track your tenure consideration to see if we can't get you back to full benefits within say… a year; two at the most!" Payne offered.

"Look, this all sounds awfully tempting, but I'm gonna have to still say no." Bushroot shook his head here.

"Think about it, please? I can't say this enough… but we need you. There's no one else with the qualifications you have for this project. Just think about it, OK? The semester doesn't start for a few weeks anyway, so you got some time. Give it some thought… and call me. Here's my number." Payne quickly jotted down his contact info underneath the stipend figure, and held it out for Bushroot to take, which he did, glancing down at it.

"Anyway, it was very nice to meet you, Dr. Bushroot, and I look forward to a favorable response. I trust you'll do the right thing, and say yes, yes?" Payne asked with a grin as he slapped the plant-duck on the back and headed for the door.

Bushroot sighed again, and looked down at the paper. A thought suddenly leaped into his mind, and he ran after the departing Dr. Payne. "Wait! I have a question! Does… does Dr. Dendron still work at the university?" he called.

A smile creased Payne's features as he turned around slowly for show. "Why yes, Dr. Bushroot, she does." He nodded. "She's one of our senior professors now. I'm sure she'd want to see you. She mentions you from time to time you know?"

"She… does?" Bushroot choked again, feeling light-headed. He reached out and leaned against the side of the greenhouse for support as a spell of vertigo suddenly overtook him and his head swam. "Goodness gracious greens! I never thought…"

"Have a nice day, Dr. Bushroot." Payne told him, giving him a nod before he turned to walk off, that smile still plastered on his face. Bushroot watched him go with something akin to desperation. A chance at his old life… could he really do it, even looking like he did?


	2. Chapter 2: Back To Work

Merely a week passed before Bushroot had caved and given Professor Payne a call regarding his desire to work again as an adjunct professor at St. Canard University. There were some lingering doubts in the back of his mind, such as the unfortunate death of his predecessor, but Bushroot wasn't exactly in a position to waltz on down to police headquarters and ask for details about the case. The public opinion had remained unchanged since the initial ruling of accidental death, and Bushroot had to consider he was getting worked up over nothing. Overriding his hesitation was his desire to teach again, the huge stipend he'd be receiving, and of course, there was the assurance of seeing Rhoda again. But on top of all that, more powerful than any of the previous three, was his desire for a normal life and acceptance among others. If he could somehow get his life back to the way it had been, there would be no need to turn the city into plant mutants.

And so, he'd pushed his hesitations aside. He was still incredibly nervous, but today was the start of the new semester, and there was no time to back out now. Bushroot had received his contract a week ago, and had already committed to teaching a year at St. Canard University. He'd found it odd that Dean Tightbill hadn't refused Bushroot's employment application, but for reasons he wasn't going to question (but wondered about), Tightbill's signature was firmly in place upon the contract. Perhaps the government had leaned on him in such a way he wasn't able to say no, but that just piqued Bushroot's curiosity even more about the nature of this side project he'd be tackling. It must've been very important if even Dean Tightbill couldn't say no.

Bushroot had tried to dress presentably, but couldn't think of anything to wear other than what he'd used to wear during his days at St. Canard U. Yellow shirt, gray jacket, black tie, and blue pants. He opted to not wear shoes, both because he needed his feet to drink, and because he doubted he'd be able to find custom shoes capable of fitting his roots.

As he stepped out of the cab and glanced with trepidation up at the university's edifices, he gulped. So familiar to him, the buildings now seemed to be sinister giants leering down, daring him to enter their dark halls. "Come on Bushroot… get a grip!" He chided himself, shaking his head. At his side he carried a black briefcase, his notes for class and materials he'd need for the day contained inside. He tried to calm his nerves by focusing on the day ahead. He had to admit, he was excited to be teaching advanced biology again. While Bio 101 was all fine and good, he preferred the upper level courses. He knew he'd have to win his students over today, and he was glad he didn't have to face the double challenge of winning them over to himself and to any basic 101 course that the students might not necessarily be thrilled about. Students were in the advanced courses because they wanted to be there; they were all looking to actively pursue careers in the field, and it was his new job to keep their interest up and help them on that path.

But could he really do it? Bushroot knew that ever since his transformation he'd become unstable. His temper had grown shorter than a rose's roots; his methodology was more about overcompensating for what he perceived as inadequacies rather than becoming a productive member of society, and his tolerance for interference in his plans was at an all time low. How could he combat these tendencies and overcome them to translate his weaknesses into strengths?

"Oh sour fertilizer, stop being an idiot!" he chided himself once more as he took the first few steps towards the biology building. "You used to do this all the time, dummy, yet you're wilting like a thirsty daffodil in a summer drought!" He sighed as entered the halls that had once been hallow to him: the Rezaian Hall of Sciences. "Just do what you did before! It's not that hard!"

Immediately he felt like he was some freakshow on display. Students were gasping, pointing, and moving away from him as he walked down the halls. He must've come off as nervous as they were, for he shied away from them at first, keeping well clear of their paths as they performed an intricate dance to stay out of each other's way. But this wasn't how Bushroot wanted to start his day. Come on, Bushroot! You're the professor! You're the one helping to lead these students on their path in life! That's your responsibility now!

Contorting his face into a smile, the plant-duck hybrid gave a small wave to a pair of students he passed by. "Good morning!" he declared, trying to sound as friendly as possible. It was forced, for sure, but at least it made him feel better that he had made the attempt. "Good morning!" he said again to another group of students he passed. He got odd looks, mumblings behind his back, but finally, one student offered a tentative wave back. There we go! Gotta count the minor victories, right?

He figured he'd head to see Professor Payne first, just to check in and let him know he'd be joining the project later this afternoon. He'd deliberately chosen to arrive about 20 minutes before class. This way, he wouldn't have time to run and hide in his new office. He'd have to face the hot coals head on, and teach his first class without being given time to back out.

His face fell as he could hear the words "freak" being uttered in the halls around him. No doubt some students were talking about how he looked, or how he wasn't natural. Perhaps even that he'd done this to himself. It was all true, and it left an immense sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maybe this was a mistake… maybe he shouldn't have come here…

But fortunately, he was near Dr. Payne's office, and hastened his steps, moving quickly past the students and out of the hallways. Dr. Payne was at his desk, reading the morning paper. Folding it down to look over the top of it, he brightened upon seeing Bushroot. "Ahhh, there he is! The plant of the hour! Heheh, welcome back! How does it feel?" Payne asked, crumpling up the paper and tossing it down on his desk.

"Oh, I dunno. I'm starting to think maybe this was a mistake." Bushroot replied honestly, running a hand through the purple shoots on his head.

"But it's what you expected, right?" Payne raised a brow here as he stood up. "I mean you did sign a contract after all, so there's no backing out now."

"I know, I know… I just… wasn't prepared adequately I guess. Anyway, just wanted to check in to let you know I'm here. Where are we meeting today and when?" Bushroot asked.

"The Nunn Laboratory at oh…" Payne glanced at his watch. "Let's make it around 4 PM, shall we? I'll explain the assignment there. The entire lab is ours, so you won't have to worry about interference while you work."

"Phew! Well that's one positive at least!" Bushroot wasn't the best at handling interference to his work. The temptation to use his powers was always there after all, and he'd like some peace and quiet for this project without the risk of flying off the handle and completely losing it, which could have disastrous consequences.

"Well, good luck in your first class! I'll see you later today!" Payne called as Bushroot departed, giving him a grin.

Bushroot hurried through the halls, making for lecture hall 1771, and trying to just focus on reaching his destination now. He was walking faster and faster, ignoring everything around him until he was practically charging like a bull with its head down. Bursting into the lecture hall, the plant-duck hybrid stopped himself short, and glanced up, his students staring at him as he stared back at them.

No one said anything at first, but then, murmurs began arising. Bushroot cursed his lack of foresight for not wearing a hat. He knew that his "hair" was definitely something to gawk at, but he wasn't even thinking about his green skin or the roots he had for feet. Bushroot started walking over to the table in front of the whiteboard. Say something! Say something! But nothing came out as his rootsteps echoed on the floor. "Um…" was all he could utter at first. "Ahem. G-good morning, class!" he stammered. "I'm Dr. Bushroot and this is Biology 413: Genetics and Molecular Biology! I know my name sounds like a pun, but I can assure you, it's not." Setting his briefcase down on the table, he released the catches and opened it up with an audible set of clicks.

"So we're going to be learning about lots of cool stuff this year, including botany, physiology, genetic conditions and our genomes, and about the functions of everyday cellular life! I've made up syllabuses here, so why don't you go ahead and pass them around and I'll go over the different modules we've got coming up this semester." He pulled out two stacks of syllabuses, and his vine arms extended out to each side of the classroom, causing gasps and shocked looks as he held out the papers to a female duck and male rat on each end of the front row. The girl recoiled but the rat looked impressed with Bushroot's ability, giving a soft "whoa" as he took the papers.

"Oh! Sorry! Force of habit! I don't… I kind of don't think about what I can and can't do on a daily basis!" Bushroot quickly apologized to his class, retracting his arms after depositing the second stack on the girl's desk.

"Um!" she started, shoving the papers a bit. "We can't like… turn into you by touching stuff you've touched, can we?"

"Hey! Come on! That's a bunch of crap!" the rat called over, shaking his head.

"No, no, it's fine." Bushroot shook his head here. "My condition is not contagious, and I could even go over that in class too, to explain why you can't become like me through contact. So don't worry! Perfectly safe!" Bushroot reassured her.

"Yeah, if you consider a former super-villain becoming a professor safe…" someone in the hall muttered. "What's he even doing here?"

Bushroot frowned, and narrowed his eyes, but then closed them to try and calm himself down and let it slide. Come on Bushroot… you didn't beat the kids up before… you can't do that now. He focused on the adrenaline he felt starting to race through him, and tried to bring it down, but fortunately, he was interrupted by another question, which provided a welcome distraction.

"How did you get like that anyway?" The rat was the one asking this question. Bushroot noted the youngster seemed pretty interested in his condition, much to his unexpected delight. For a moment, Bushroot was tempted to be fully honest and come clean about his accident as he could see the earnest eyes of his student searching him for answers. But this wasn't the time or place to discuss such things, and he knew it'd only add fuel to the fire if he did. Sighing, Bushroot blinked and shook his head.

"Well that's a story for another time, I think. Let's just say it involved me not being safe with lab equipment, which is why it's important to keep in mind our lab safety rules this semester!" He declared, nodding out at the class. He caught the deflated look of the rat out of the corner of his eye, and glanced down at his student list now. Only one rat on the list, and the name read "David Cronin." Definitely a name to remember for later, in case Bushroot ever decided to open up about his accident.

"So do you breathe like a plant or a duck?" asked another student about midway down the auditorium.

"Good question! I have lungs, but they're only so I can draw in air to speak, but I don't need them to breathe. My respiration occurs like any other plant, which you probably learned about in a lower biology class." Bushroot responded, smiling at the student.

"And do you drink through your feet?" David asked here, leaning forward in his seat.

"I sure do! Allow me to demonstrate while you get your syllabuses!" Bushroot turned on the tap for the sink on the table, and stuck his rooty foot under the flowing water. His foot expanded and contracted like an accordion as he began sucking in water from the faucet.

"Wicked!" David exclaimed, grinning widely at the sight as Bushroot shut off the water now.

"Yes, I suppose it is pretty wicked! So as you see from your syllabus, our first module will be dealing with advanced cellular biology of creatures like yourselves… but not really me, since I'm a special case!" Another student interrupted him however as he set his wet foot back down now.

"How do you reproduce?"

"That's not really an appropriate question to ask your professor now, is it? I may be a plant hybrid, but there's still ethics to be observed in the classroom! You wouldn't ask any of your other professors that, now would you?" he asked, raising a brow as he looked around the room, and that quieted them down. "Now then! I trust you all purchased the required textbooks for this course! And yes, I know… before you complain, the university store ripped me off too back when I was a student here, so don't worry about that! I know full well the store here is a racket!" he joked, eliciting some laughs now from the class. Hey! This wasn't so bad! Maybe he could do this after all!

"The positive side to that is, you'll end up with the last laugh, if you're really serious about pursuing a career in biology, because those books will be well worth their mileage when you get out into the field! I still have my old biology books from college, after all! Well… maybe I should say, I still have the stone tablets they found in a field outside St. Canard and sold to me back when I was going to school here." He cracked again, bringing forth more laughter from his class. Some didn't seem convinced, but the majority seemed to be relaxing around him now.

"Because let's face it!" Bushroot strutted across the length of the white board now, spreading his arms wide. "Biology is kinda like magic you'd find on old stone tablets! It helps us unlock the mysteries of life and understand how our bodies function and the nature of things like diseases and how they affect us! Wanting to understand those mysteries is why I majored in biology in the first place, and why I became a teacher! To help those like you who are just as curious about the world around them unlock those mysteries!" Wow! He suddenly felt as if he were five years younger and had his teaching stride back!

Rubbing his hands together, he walked back to the table. "Ok then, let's dive right in! Open your textbooks to chapter four! We don't need to worry about the basics in the first three chapters, because you already covered that in previous semesters, so we're gonna start with a brief refresher on a cell's different organelles and what they do! Can anyone for example tell me what the Golgi apparatus does?" he asked, looking around the classroom as his eyes lit up with a fire that hadn't been present in five years…

By the time his first class was done, Bushroot was feeling a sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in years. Countless disappointments at the hands of Darkwing Duck had served to dash his hopes of ever being a success again, but not only had he connected with most of his students, but he'd also managed to get them excited for the semester ahead in his class. He hadn't been the boring lecturer who'd put his students to sleep on day one. He'd actively engaged them, and made sure they were following along as he'd refreshed them on the organelles of a eukaryotic cell.

He was still getting weird looks in the hall, but he no longer cared by this point. He needed to check out his new office, after all. Or perhaps he should say Lindamood's old office, because the sight greeting him upon stepping over the threshold was far from ideal. "Oh, come on! Really?" he asked aloud, noting that Lindamood's old stuff was scattered around the office like a dusty old antique store. It had been four weeks since his death, but the university hadn't seen fit to clean out all his old personal effects? Sighing, Bushroot stepped into the office and made for the chair, glancing down at all the papers strewn about the desk. Lindamood had apparently left in a hurry before he'd died, as what looked like research notes were scattered over the desktop.

Taking a look over them, Bushroot could see they were complex formulas for some kind of mixture in liquid form. They weren't very organized though, and it'd take some time to make sense of them all.

"Hey, hey, Dr. Bushroot!" Looking up, Bushroot saw the voice belonged to Dr. Payne, who stood in the doorway of the office. "How was your first class? You grow any roots yet?" Payne joked, grinning.

"Uh… well yeah, it was great, actually! I think I did a really good job!" Bushroot responded enthusiastically.

"Pfft, I knew you'd be fine!" Payne said reassuringly. "Oh! Right! Sorry about the mess! We didn't clean out Lindamood's office because well… you're taking over his research, and we didn't want to accidentally trash anything you'd need. We already looked through it all, and didn't see anything that raised any red flags, so you're good to go with it!"

Something about that last statement registered as odd in Bushroot's mind, but he didn't have time to process it as Payne continued. "I'm sure there's stuff you won't really need though, like some of his personal items, so anything you don't need, just box it up and give it over to the university. We'll ensure it reaches his next of kin."

"Oh… right, of course." Bushroot nodded. "So uh… what exactly am I working on?" Moment of truth here, but it wasn't like he could back out anyway.

"Ah yes… well…" Payne sat on the edge of the desk now, and rolled around a black obsidian ball between his wings as Bushroot sat down. "Dr. Bushroot… this may come as a shock to you, but in reality, we were studying an ability of yours this past year. "

"Huh? Mine?" Bushroot blinked here, not having expected this at all.

"Yes… for some time now, we've been thinking about dramatically altering the lives of those who have been in crippling accidents and even combat situations in which they've suffered severe injuries, such as the loss of an arm or a leg. Your regenerative capabilities are truly remarkable, and we were looking to dig deeper into them in order to help those that have been severely crippled."

Bushroot stared blankly ahead as Payne rolled the ball over to him. "That's what Dr. Lindamood was working on? My ability to regenerate?"

"In controlled amounts, of course. The medical applications alone are astounding, but we weren't sure if such a thing was possible without basically turning the recipients of such treatment into well… you essentially." Payne stated, watching as Bushroot took the ball in his hand and stared down at it.

"Fascinating! So you're trying to figure out how I regenerate but without all the other side effects of being a mutant plant-duck hybrid at the same time?" he asked, looking up now. "I have to confess, when I suffer a serious injury, my consciousness typically transfers to another plant that I can mutate into this body, but even I don't know how that fully works! But you're talking about my ability to re-grow things like my limbs if they're hacked off, similar to how a tree can re-grow its branches, right?"

"Precisely! But on a much more accelerated scale! A tree can take years to re-grow a branch, but we want to speed that process up. Not only that, but if we could apply this to things like brain cells, Alzheimer's would become a thing of the past, as too potentially would cancer. But the real trick is finding out the process without requiring the recipient to turn into an outright hybrid. That's what's been tripping us up. But with you here now… we might just have a chance! Dr. Lindamood was doing a fairly good job until he started drinking… and that led to its own problems, as you can see." Payne explained, sighing sadly here.

"I see… I have to admit, I don't know how my regeneration works, but I'd be willing to get to the bottom of it if it meant making a difference to those who need it! I had no idea this side project was something like this! I thought it was some weapon or something you wanted me to build, from how it sounded, and I'm relieved to know it's not that at all!" Bushroot exclaimed with a sense of relief. He rolled the ball around in a circle under his hand now.

"So you'll help us out?" Payne asked hopefully.

"Oh of course! My research at this university before was about helping others end world hunger, and this definitely sounds like something I could get behind! You can count this plant as potted!" he declared, rolling the ball back over to Payne now, who stopped it with a smile.

"Excellent! Well then! Why don't we go meet the rest of your team, and go over your contracts, whaddya say?"


	3. Chapter 3: Old Wounds

Sorry about the delay everyone, but my job got in the way! Anyway, here's the next chapter!

**Chapter 3**

Bushroot had carefully read through the contracts, making sure there was nothing he'd regret signing later, but even he had to admit, the minutiae of contracts sometimes baffled him. Perhaps a lawyer present would've helped, but he was fairly certain there wasn't anything in there that would present a problem later on. The main contract had seemed fairly generous, as it promised to give full credit to him if he did indeed make a breakthrough.

As he still had some time in between his first and second classes, and didn't need to report to the labs until after that, Bushroot decided to drop in on an old comrade of his that he had longed to see for years but had all but given up on ever being able to do so again. He learned that her class was after his own, which was very convenient, as his next one didn't start until 1:00.

So he stood in the doorway of the lecture hall, all the way at the top, and out of sight for the most part as he listened to her speak. It wouldn't matter what the topic was; Bushroot could listen to her speak all day. He shut his eyes, and listened as her words on the circulatory system washed over him. Such perfection in that well-modulated voice; it was heavenly.

Down below him, Dr. Rhoda Dendron was starting to wrap up her lecture, and was still not aware that Bushroot was at the top of the auditorium. As her class concluded, students began shuffling for the exits, and Bushroot moved out of their way to avoid any startled looks and for convenience's sake. Although he was eager to jump right in there and speak to Rhoda, he'd waited years for this… a bit longer wouldn't kill him. Smiling at any students who glanced his way and nodding, most seemed shocked to see one of St. Canard's super-villains present in their halls. To those who really knew his history though (and that wasn't many), they understood perfectly well why he was here.

As the last of the students filed out, Bushroot inhaled, and stepped into the classroom. "I've always loved your lectures, Dr. Dendron." He said. Gasping, Rhoda looked up in disbelief at the sound of the voice addressing her. She had been putting her papers away but this task was quickly forgotten as her eyes locked on his own.

"Dr. Bushroot!" she exclaimed, clearly caught off balance by his appearance.

"Don't tell me you're completely surprised!" Bushroot let a grin play over his features now. "Surely they must've told you I was back!" He spread his arms wide here to emphasize his point.

"Well y-yes but I didn't think that…" she trailed off, shaking her head.

"Didn't think what? That I wouldn't drop by to see you? There's no way I could pass up the opportunity at seeing…" he paused, as if searching for the right words. "You again, Rhoda!" he finally settled on.

"Dr. Bushroot… I'm not sure now is an appropriate time…" Rhoda began.

"What do you mean?" Bushroot asked quickly. "Are you busy? I checked your schedule, and it says you don't have another class for two hours. Is it something else then?" he asked earnestly, starting to walk down the rows of seats towards the front of the auditorium, much to her disconcert.

"I…" Rhoda trailed off, shaking her head again. "I need to prepare for a seminar I'm giving later! I really don't have a lot of time right now."

Bushroot's face seemed to fall at this, but he kept moving forward, running one of his ivy hands over the tops of the desks as he walked by them. "Oh… well then I won't take up much of your time, I promise. Rhoda… the truth is, I've felt tormented over how our last encounter ended. I wasn't exactly the most gentle I could've been with you, after all." Bushroot said remorsefully. "I mean kidnapping you? And then trying to force you to turn into something like me? That's not how I wanted to come across to you at all." He shook his head here sadly.

"Yes well… you certainly did hurt me back then, Dr. Bushroot." Rhoda replied defensively.

Bushroot's face seemed to contort in confusion and maybe even agony at this. "I… hurt you? I didn't think I had actually inflicted any physical harm!" he declared, panic rising in his voice.

"No I don't mean physically… your treatment left me needing a year of therapy." She coldly informed him. "I couldn't go to my classes without starting to feel like you'd be around the corner. My hands would shake, I'd feel dizzy, and I'd feel scared just leaving my office! I mean what were you thinking back then?" she demanded angrily here.

That caused him to stop dead in his tracks, having reached the second to last row towards the bottom of the auditorium. His face fell now like a stone dropping, and he seemed genuinely surprised. "I… I did that?" he asked softly.

"Yes! You did! And I've been dreading the day I'd come face to face with you ever since!" Rhoda snapped.

"Dreading?" Bushroot asked, as if the word was foreign to him and he didn't understand. "I… I never meant to hurt you though, Rhoda!" Bushroot insisted here now. "I just wanted… I just wanted…" he was stuttering now, and having trouble locating his words.

"I don't care what you wanted!" Rhoda cut him off. "You didn't even once think about me or what I wanted! You were just thinking about yourself, and your own needs and desires! Because of you I was almost changed forever, and not for the better! Dr. Bushroot, you may have been my companion and fellow professor once, but you are nothing but one of St. Canard's super-villains now, and someone I hoped to never see again! Why are you even here?" she asked, placing her hands on her hips now and glaring at him.

Bushroot seemed to shrivel up worse than a dandelion wilting in the sun. "I… I just wanted to… apologize…" he said slowly, hanging his head. "I never meant to hurt you… and I'm sorry. I wanted to see you because… because…" He couldn't get the words out though, closing his eyes and unable to even look at her at this juncture.

"Well you've said your apologies, but I don't feel safe around you anymore, Dr. Bushroot! Now I have a lot of work to do, and this little catch-up session of ours wasn't worth it! I'm going to have to ask you to please leave my classroom and not come back! I don't think seeing each other again is a good idea!"

Her words stung him, and he recoiled like a frightened puppy from a rolled up newspaper. "I… I'm sorry…" he squeaked again pathetically, still not opening his eyes.

"Just get out, Dr. Bushroot!" Rhoda said with exasperation, and he found he had no choice. His legs were carrying him away from her of their own accord now. Slow at first, and then faster and faster, until he was running out of the auditorium, fleeing like a terrified citizen of Pompeii from an erupting Mt. Vesuvius. He just wanted to stop hearing her words in his mind yelling at him to get away from her. Fighting back the tears, it was impossible for him to fully hold back, and he began sobbing as he made his way back to his office as fast as his roots could carry him.

Behind him, Rhoda's face slowly softened as she saw him depart in tears, and a small part of her felt a twinge of pain and regret for him, and she sighed with exasperation. Perhaps she'd gone too far…

The hallways were fairly deserted this time of day, but even so, Bushroot almost plowed into a student or two before he reached his destination and slammed the door. Throwing his weight back and leaning heavily against it, he sighed, and wiped the tears from his face. "What did… what did I… do?" he asked shakily, staring emptily out into the room. Suddenly a look of anger crossed his face and he let out a cry of frustration. "Aggh! Way to go fertilizer brain! Perfect start to your day back with Rhoda! Perfect!" His vine arms lashed outward and angrily slammed his desk, rattling all its contents as he let out another wail. His arms stretched out and angrily tore out one of the drawers and began emptying its contents all over the floor. It was all Dr. Lindamood's things anyway, and Bushroot didn't care right now.

He tossed the now empty drawer aside, letting it crash against a bookcase and clatter to the floor. "Want me to clean this office out? Sure! I'll clean it out!" he snapped, moving to around the desk now and violently pulling out another drawer. "Dammit! Why was I such a jerk to her?" he cursed, upending this drawer as well and watching as all the papers and folders spilled downward like a waterfall. Tossing this drawer aside as well, he watched with satisfaction as it too thudded against the bookcase. But as it landed on its side, the bottom seemed to peel off and hang at an odd angle. But wait… the bottom was still there… the wood undamaged. So what was that hanging off the bottom of the drawer?

Moving tentatively over to it, Bushroot glanced down and could see a manila envelope taped to the bottom of the wood. "Huh… what's this?" he asked curiously, stretching his arm out and ripping off the envelope to bring it up for closer inspection. Had it belonged to Dr. Lindamood? And why was it concealed out of sight under the drawer? There was no writing on the front or any indication of what it was, but Bushroot's curiosity got the better of him, and he peeled back the opening to see what was inside.

Reaching downward, he pulled out photographs. They didn't seem very important at first, but upon closer inspection, Bushroot could see the first one was of Dr. Payne standing beside a black limo and leaning down to talk to the occupant in the back, who was out of sight in this shot. The second was of the limo pulling away as Dr. Payne watched it go, his back to the photographer. A third picture showed Payne walking back towards the university with a manila envelope in his hands. Bushroot could just make out the letters and words D593 on the front of it. "Huh… what's all this?" Bushroot asked himself, clearly puzzled by these strange photos. "Why would Dr. Lindamood be taking photographs of Dr. Payne?" Flipping the third photograph over, Bushroot could see a telephone number written in black sharpie upon the backside.

"Hmmm…" he said to himself, tapping his chin as he looked over at the phone on his desk. Reaching out to the receiver, Bushroot cautiously picked it up and began dialing the number, unsure really of what he was doing. But he paused about halfway through, and set the receiver back down with a sigh. This wasn't any of his business… but all the same, a nagging thought began to play in his mind. What was Dr. Lindamood doing taking pictures of Dr. Payne? And more importantly, was what he was doing dangerous? Dr. Payne didn't strike him as a particularly dangerous person, but questions about Lindamood's death once again surfaced in his mind. Why hide these pictures if they weren't important? What exactly was going on here?

But then, Payne's words earlier to him in the day started making more sense. "We didn't find anything that raised any red flags." That had gone over Bushroot's head earlier, but now, looking down at the envelope, he wondered if this is what Payne had meant. But what was the meaning behind these pictures? Was D593 significant in some way?

He jumped as he heard a knock on his open door. "Jeez!" he exclaimed, quickly shoving the photos back into the envelope and out of sight. "Oh… Mr. Cronin, what can I help you with?" Bushroot asked, noting the rat from his first class was standing in the doorway.

"Hey Dr. Bushroot." David waved. "I just wanted to say I'm glad to have you as my professor this semester. You seem like a really cool guy."

"I do?" Bushroot blinked. "Uh… why so? You do know who I am, right?"

"Of course. I do watch TV you know." David rolled his eyes here. "It's kinda hard to not know who you are. But eh, you started out as a professor here… no reason why you can't go back to your old profession." David shrugged. "You didn't hurt anyone in class today, and I believe in judging a person after getting to know them, first. Plus you're a genius, from what I heard, and there's no denying that!" David grinned here.

"Oh, well I don't know about that." Bushroot replied modestly. "Some genius, who couldn't even support himself without turning to crime over the years." His hand tapped the envelope distractedly in his grip, and it felt like it was pulling his attention away a little.

"Eh, you're not committing any crimes now." David responded, bringing up a good point. "Anyway, I know you're probably busy, so I'll let you work. Uh…" the rat paused as he noticed the two drawers which had been flung against the wall. "You uh… need some help in here?" he asked curiously.

"Oh! Uh… no, no!" Bushroot quickly cut in. "It was… uh, an accident." He tried lamely. "Dr. Lindamood used to have this office before I got it, and uh… I've been trying to clean it out. But thanks! I can manage!" Bushroot stated with some vehemence.

"Ah… well all right." David nodded. "See ya Wednesday, then!" With a grin and a wave, David departed from the doorway.

Bushroot sighed, and looked down at the envelope in his hands again. Was this really worth pursuing? But he already knew the answer to that. His own safety could be at risk, particularly if Lindamood was mixed up in something that had possibly led to his death. But he had to check himself here. Really, Reggie? His death was accidental: he had fallen off the ferry drunk and had drowned. There was nothing more to it, right? But then why the pictures? What did they mean? And why hide them?

Frowning, he glanced at the clock, and noticed his next class was in about 30 minutes. Right… time to finish cleaning out what he could… and maybe look for any more hidden items here in the office. After that, he'd have to get to work in the Nunn Laboratory on his new government project. Perhaps he could try to find out more about why Lindamood was interested in taking these photos later today…


	4. Chapter 4: A Shocking Turn

Bushroot had finished up his work for the day, having been introduced to the rest of Payne's team for the research into his abilities. They'd spent the afternoon catching Bushroot up on Lindamood's research and bringing him up to speed on what needed to be done. Lindamood had fallen a bit short on the chemical formulas, being able to replicate Bushroot's ability, but only in very small plants. It was useless as it stood, but Bushroot had to give the deceased professor credit; he'd made great strides without having the source material present.

But the day had ended after the catch-up session, and Bushroot was back in his office, tapping one of his hands on top of his desk as he gazed at the manila envelope sitting conspicuously in front of him. Should he call the number on the back of the photograph? It was burning a hole in his desk just sitting there, but his reverie was interrupted by a soft voice at his door. He sat bolt upright at the sound, recognizing it immediately as Rhoda. "Rhoda?" he asked, blinking and wondering if he'd dozed off at his desk and was dreaming now.

But any thoughts of that were shattered when he saw how she regarded him. It was almost like he was a specimen of some sort, and she were analyzing his behavior behind glass or worse… a cage. "Dr. Bushroot…" Rhoda began here.

"Yes?" Bushroot asked, feeling his throat closing up.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to snap at you earlier." She said quickly here, as if wanting to avoid conversation with him altogether. "But it doesn't change things between us… I just wanted to apologize, that's all."

"Oh… well… no real need to apologize, Rhoda. I… deserved it." Bushroot confessed here, hanging his head. "You were right… I… did things to you without your consent and… was very stupid. I also think you're right too about us." He said here, looking up, and struggling to control his tears. "I think we should stay away from each other from now on. It's not worth getting you worked up over, or me risking getting into trouble regarding you. We should stay… totally far apart from each other. As far apart as can be managed."

She seemed surprised to hear him say this, and noted the pained expression on his face. "Dr. Bushroot… I didn't mean…"

"Say no more, Dr. Dendron!" Bushroot cut her off, raising a hand here. "I understand completely!" He reached for a gray hat hanging on a hook, which he quickly flipped onto his head and began packing up the manila envelope into his attaché case.

"No… you don't understand…" Rhoda said softly here, causing Bushroot to pause in his packing, and him to regard her in profile with a curious expression, his beak pursed and looking tensed. "Just… I'm sorry, OK?" she asked, and vanished from his doorway as quickly as she'd appeared. Bushroot stood stock still for a moment, then continued his packing with a sigh.

"All I wanted was to change the world for the better… and I wanted her." He said aloud, snapping his case shut. "Now what am I? A lonely plant freak who can't even rekindle old friendships. Where did I go wrong?" he asked morosely, picking up his briefcase and heading out of his office as he flicked the lights off and shut the door, figuring he'd clean the place out tomorrow.

Walking down the sidewalk of a busy street in St. Canard, Bushroot decided he'd take the bus as opposed to a cab. He was getting fearful looks though, and it made thinking about things he wanted to think about impossible. Instead, the only thing he could think about was how different he looked, and how he struck fear into the hearts of the denizens of St. Canard as a former member of the Fearsome Five. Quickly paying for a newspaper, the hybrid began jogging now, running for the nearest bus stop.

Practically plowing into the bench, Bushroot tore the newspaper open and raised it up violently in front of him, concealing his face from others and trying to block them out. The news was little better though, as there was so much negativity in it. The Liquidator was on the loose, and was currently wanted in a jewelry store heist. Sighing, Bushroot flipped the page.

But a piece of destiny suddenly landed in his lap so unexpected it hit him with the force of a meteor. A voice nearby suddenly sounded, causing Bushroot's head to shoot up in shock. It was only a simple "Where is that girl?" but Bushroot knew that voice anywhere! "Darkwing Duck?" Bushroot exclaimed in fear, and found himself looking straight into the eyes of a duck he didn't recognize, but who had very familiar eyes… VERY familiar eyes.

The duck in question had been pacing in front of the bus stop and studying his watch, but it was clear to Bushroot now just who he was looking at. "Bushroot?" the other duck asked slowly, looking from left to right to see who else was looking in their direction. He was well dressed, wearing a green sleeveless cardigan with a pink shirt underneath.

"Darkwi-" But the other duck cut Bushroot off by moving right up to him, causing the plant-duck to flinch and close his eyes.

"You say that name aloud and I'll put you through the glass behind you, got it?" the duck threatened, indicating the glass of the partly enclosed bus stop.

"I-I-I didn't!" Bushroot could only stammer as Drake Mallard sat next to him.

"What dastardly sort of plan are you hatching, Bushroot?" came the duck's low but unmistakable voice. "Planning to hijack the bus, are you? Sizing up the bank across the street? Well? What is it?" Darkwing demanded.

Bushroot opened his eyes, and turned to look at the duck who wasn't dressed like Darkwing, but that the scientist now knew for certain was the caped crusader. "No!" he responded slowly here. "No I… I'm just trying to get home!" he insisted.

"Home? So what, you already committed your crime?" Darkwing asked, trying to keep his voice down to avoid passers by overhearing their conversation.

"Why would I take the bus if I just committed a crime?" Bushroot asked, trying to defend himself.

The duck's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "You're right… that'd be a pretty stupid getaway… but I don't trust you, Bushroot!" Drake tapped Bushroot's chest hard with a finger.

"I swear! I'm just… trying… to get… home." Bushroot enunciated each word now, hoping it'd help. "I got a job! Didn't you hear?"

"You? A job? Yeah right!" Drake replied dismissively. "How about that suitcase? Got a bomb in it?" Darkwing pressed.

"No there's nothing sinister in it! I'm telling you the truth! Look!" Bushroot began digging around in his pocket, causing Darkwing to snarl.

"Hold it! What do you think you're doing?"

"Just… getting my credentials… OK?" Bushroot asked.

Credentials that you stole?" Darkwing continued.

Bushroot sighed. "No! Just… let me take them out, OK?"

"Slowly." Darkwing ordered, folding his arms over his chest. Jeez… this duck was dressed like an ordinary, unassuming mallard. But Darkwing had to have a normal life outside of crime fighting… right? He'd mentioned a girl too… who?

Bushroot began withdrawing his hand slowly, inching it out into the open to reveal his faculty card. "Here!" he said, holding it out now for the mallard to examine.

Swiping it away, Darkwing hmmmed over it thoughtfully, noting the St. Canard University emblem on it. "How did you bamboozle the staff into hiring you?" Drake asked skeptically.

"They came to me! Honest! They wanted my help on a project! I didn't bamboozle anyone! I haven't done anything in months!" Bushroot insisted.

"Which makes you all the more suspicious!" Darkwing shot back, wagging his finger in the plant-duck's face. "The longer the wait, the bigger the crime, in my experience!"

"But I'm not…!" Bushroot tried to reiterate, but could see this was going nowhere fast. Looking behind Darkwing, he could see his bus approaching. "Look… I gotta go, OK?"

"Not so fast, Bushroot!" Darkwing stood up now, glaring down at him. "Don't think you can just-"

"Dad!" Came an enthusiastic cry from across the street.

"Gosalyn?" Drake asked, looking across the street now to see his ward waving at him and holding up a comic.

Dad? Gosalyn? Really? Darkwing was a FATHER? Bushroot could hardly believe this, but for some reason, Darkwing's "daughter" looked terribly familiar to him. He couldn't really place her though… but he had this feeling he'd seen her somewhere before.

"There was a sale, dad! Line was killer! But I'm here now!" She apparently didn't notice Bushroot, but Drake was partly concealing him the way he was standing over him. Checking for oncoming traffic, she began darting across the street, causing Drake to suddenly panic.

"Gosalyn wait! It doesn't say walk yet!" he yelled across to her.

"It will in like three seconds!" Gosalyn shouted back to him. She could see the light was changing yellow, but what she couldn't see was a taxi acting like the typical aggressive St. Canard cab by suddenly gunning its engine and accelerating around the slower bus, which was just now lumbering to a halt. Speeding up, the cab was trying to make the light, but the driver's reckless move didn't allow him to see Gosalyn until it was too late, and a disaster seemed all but inevitable. The sound of a car's engine roaring was the first thing Bushroot heard, and then the sound of screeching tires.

"GOSALYN" Drake shouted, charging forward now. Bushroot had maybe two seconds to react, and without even thinking, he lashed his arm out, shooting it past Darkwing and lassoing Gosalyn to pull her out of the way, just barely managing to get her out of the cab's path, feeling the wind rushing by his skin as the cab screeched to a halt right where Gosalyn had been standing.

For a moment, no one said anything. Gosalyn seemed to be in shock that she'd just been saved by Bushroot, one of her father's nemeses. Darkwing seemed to be in shock that Bushroot had saved his ward, and Bushroot had no idea what to say as he released Gosalyn from his grip.

It was Bushroot who finally spoke first. "You all right?" he asked Darkwing's "daughter", looking down at her.

"Dad… did… what's going… did you… did he…?" Gosalyn asked, for once the sarcastic duck being at a loss for words.

Drake regarded Bushroot with amazement, his cold demeanor from before totally evaporated now.

"What?" Bushroot asked. "Oh come on! I'm not a cold-blooded killer! She was gonna wind up street pizza! I couldn't just do nothing!" he insisted.

Suddenly, others were pointing and some were even starting to clap. "Did you see that?" "Sure did! That was Bushroot!" "Bushroot saved that girl!" "Yeah I thought he was one of our super-villains!" "Maybe he's not so bad after all!"

Darkwing's eyes were darting left and right once more, almost as if he was afraid of all the attention shifting his way. The pressure seemed to be building on him, and he finally stepped forward now. "Um… thanks for saving… my… my ward." He said in a very low voice, as if he couldn't believe his own words as he thrust a hand out for Bushroot to shake. Bushroot decided to play this up. He could use this to show others he'd changed, after all, and eagerly took Drake's wing and shook it heartily.

"Hey! No problem! I uh… hope you would've done the same for me!" he responded with a wink here.

"Well uh… thank you, Dr. Bushroot!" Drake said again. "You… really…" He was interrupted by the bus honking its horn.

"Any of you getting on?" the bus driver called.

"That's your ride, right?" Drake asked here, nodding at the bus.

"You too… yes?" Bushroot asked, hinting at something here.

"Yes… I suppose it is." Drake responded, nodding again, almost mechanically.

"Well let's go, dad!" Gosalyn was tugging on his arm now. "You said meet you at the 6th Street bus stop, so here I am!"

"Right…" Drake answered, not even looking down at her, but still looking at Bushroot.

"Oh fine! I'll go first!" Bushroot relented, and stepped onto the bus first.

"Take the back seats." Bushroot could hear Drake tell him from behind him. The back of the bus was relatively empty, so Bushroot obeyed, walking to the back as Darkwing followed suit and sat down with his ward next to Bushroot.

"So what's going on, dad? You and Bushroot, you know?" Gosalyn asked as the bus rumbled forward.

"Actually I'm not quite sure, Gosalyn." Drake answered, turning to her now. "But you've already met him…"

"Well I know that!" Gosalyn replied, rolling her eyes.

"Aww… well I didn't know you had a ward!" Bushroot cut in here, smiling. Darkwing shot him a "back off" look.

"We'll discuss that later." Drake muttered, waving his hand at Bushroot.

Bushroot nodded, and opened his case up to get some work done on the bus, though was conscious of Darkwing looking at what he was working on every so often, most likely to see if he was sincere or not. As Bushroot lived further away than Darkwing did, the ducks' stop came first. Darkwing motioned for Bushroot to follow them off the bus. They used the rear exit to be less, which Bushroot figured was less conspicuous.

"Oh wow! Nice neighborhood!" Bushroot commented, smiling as he looked around at all the suburban houses around him, turning in a small circle to take it all in. Fortunately, Drake had pushed the stop button a few blocks from his house, as he didn't want to broadcast exactly where he lived.

"Gosalyn, give me a minute with Dr. Bushroot." Darkwing said, waving his ward off for the moment. "All right Bushroot!" Drake began when she had moved down to stand in front of the next house. "I suppose I owe you for saving my ward's life. Now look, Bushroot! I really hope you HAVE changed, because you know full well who I am now… and you know what that represents, right?"

Bushroot looked long and hard at Darkwing now, and smiled again. "I could proclaim my ecstasy at finally knowing who my arch-nemesis is… but…" He looked beyond Darkwing to Gosalyn now. "I never knew you had a real life outside of your crime fighting existence. And you know… it's kinda sweet." Bushroot confessed here, clasping his hands together. "Thinking of you as plain old Mr. Duck and not crime buster Dar… uh… you know who."

"Bushhroot… I'm serious about this! I need to know I can trust you with this information! Gosalyn is… I won't let anyone ever hurt her… and if you tell ANY of your so-called 'friends' about me or her…" Drake warned.

"Oh, no! I wouldn't!" Bushroot shook his head. "I'm legit now! I told you! Besides… I kind of… woke up today thanks to a former coworker of mine. She kind of… made it known what I had done and well I… I would never use a child for leverage. I won't ever bring you up either in casual conversation! You don't have to worry Darkwi… uh… what is your real name?" Bushroot asked here, stumbling over the name.

Darkwing closed his eyes, as if thinking this over, and folded his arms across his chest. "Drake." He finally answered, but didn't give a last name, or perhaps that was his last name, Bushroot wasn't sure. It could either way.

"OK… well not to worry, Drake! I won't ever talk about this on campus or otherwise!" Bushroot spoke up now.

"Listen… you need cab fare I assume." Drake mumbled, rummaging around in his pocket. "And you'd better not…" he added as an afterthought.

"Eh… let's call it an IOU. I'd rather have you owe me for when I really need you as opposed to just getting me home for the day." Bushroot waved off the offer of money.

"Bushroot! I'm making an offer here!" Drake cut in.

"But I'm serious! Being owed a favor from you is well… kinda cool! Oh and I won't use it to say have you look the other way or something… I mean not that I plan on returning to that type of lifestyle anyway, but eh… let's just say you don't owe me anything." He shrugged here, finally settling on that. "But… your friendship would be nice." The hybrid confessed here.

"My friendship?" Drake asked here, confused and blinking as he raised his brows.

"Yeah! You know… visit me on campus some time! Or at my greenhouse! Or invite me over for burgers or something and…"

"OK! OK!" Drake interrupted, raising his hands. "You aren't getting an invite till you prove yourself trustworthy enough… but fine. I'll consider the other stuff." Drake jabbed a finger at him.

"Great! Well… take care of yourself, Drake!" Bushroot waved here, picked up his briefcase, and began walking away from Drake Mallard and back towards the bus stop.

Darkwing watched him go, considering himself lucky that Bushroot didn't know where his hideout was. Still… this was a most unexpected development, and one that left him very uneasy. The plant-duck seemed friendly enough, but who knew what he was really thinking? Still… if there was one of the Fearsome Five that Darkwing believed most capable of reforming, it was Reginald Bushroot. Perhaps this was something to encourage… but at arm's length of course.

Turning, Drake started walking to catch up with Gosalyn, who was already moving ahead a bit towards their house.


End file.
